


Awakenings

by ELC01



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-04-30 21:37:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14505963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ELC01/pseuds/ELC01
Summary: In those precious moments between deep slumber and encroaching wakefulness, sometimes real life reveals itself to be better than you could have hoped to dream.





	1. THREE

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: Regrettably, I have no rights to Outlander, Jamie or Claire - in any of their forms. I'm just a fan, inspired to borrow them for a little while simply to flex that long-dormant writing muscle. 
> 
> Any mistakes are my own. This is genuinely my first attempt at anything like this, so any constructive criticism gratefully received.
> 
> I'll be extending this to a few chapters, rewinding further backwards each time to reveal how they came to be together.  
> 

Her first semi-conscious thought was one of fleeting dejection. Deliciously deep sleep ebbed away as the barest of tickles graced the tip of her nose. Resistance proving futile as it stubbornly became an itch. Clinging desperately to the very edges of sleep, with a quiet but suitably melodramatic sigh, she unfurled a finger from where it lay near her left ear. Raking it less than elegantly back and forth underneath her nose, scrunched up in childish satisfaction. Itch successfully scratched.

With another quiet sigh, this one of contented relief, she burrowed deeper into the feather-topped mattress. With her right elbow resting atop her hip bone and arm falling across her chest, she flexed the fingers of that hand; just brushing the incongruously sensitive edge of the larger, stronger palm reverently cupping her left breast.

A beaming smile broke across her face, as she eased her body slightly back, closer into the warmth emanating from his much larger form. The answering hitch in his deep breathing across her neck, with the tightening of his arm over hers and a delightful pressure as he shifted his hips against her shapely firm cheeks, made her smile impossibly brighter still.  
As ever, graceful and powerful as a big cat, his contented sigh reverberated through her like an irresistible purr. She answered him with one of her own, another stroke of his palm and a deeper flex of her hips into his.  
He didn’t miss a beat, growling in response, leaning forward and up to grasp the shell of her delicate upper ear between his teeth in a playfully soft bite. Her hushed squeal of protest dissolved quickly into a satisfied snigger.

She snuggled further into him, relishing his heat as much as the sense of security provided. There was simply nowhere else she’d rather be, blissfully happy and utterly content.  
With a start, she thought perhaps she should check this wasn’t just some cruel dream.  
Lacing the fingers of her right hand with his, she lifted their joined palms to place a tender smiling kiss on the top of his lightly freckled paw. Lips barely raised from his skin, she braved a whisper.  
‘Mmmmmm... tell me last night actually, finally, really happened then?!’  
With a slight stretch of his impressive form, came an answering ‘Mmmphh. Aye, lass... I certainly hope so, or else I dinna ken how I’d explain yer bra hanging off my bedside lamp?!’

She sniggered a ‘Mmmphh’ of her own. With an unseen roll of her eyes, she released his hand and flipped neatly on to her right side before he could issue a protest.  
Apparently pacified, he pulled her closer, long strong fingers drawing lightly up and down her back. Surprised, as always, by the sheer size of him, she flexed her long, slender neck upwards, only to find her nose level with the top of his chest. Whilst she hadn’t landed where intended, she couldn’t complain. The juncture of the top of his chest - defined as if chiselled from stone by Michelangelo himself - with the dip between his clavicles at the base of his thick neck, was a favourite place of hers. She was always struck by the juxtaposition of apparent vulnerability, nestled amongst such evident strength and power. 

Braving a quick glance up at him before coyly lowering her lashes, she lent some haughtiness to her English inflection. ‘I was referring….’  
In reverence, she couldn’t resist brushing the tip of her nose against that dip, placing a gentle kiss before continuing her journey upward. ‘To you’...  
She indulged in another stop en route, placing a delicate kiss alongside his Adam’s apple. ‘…And me’.  
As delighted in its bobbing response as in the rasp of stubble against her lips, she pressed a third kiss to the underside of his jaw.  
She wriggled to slide up the mattress a few inches more, shifting impossibly closer, eyes now finally level with his. She settled just in time to see them crack open and reveal those stunningly bright baby blues.  
Reverently, she ran a hand over his ribs, up his back and into his glorious auburn curls, blazing almost golden in an errant beam of early morning sunlight. With coquettishly arched eyebrow offset by the relaxing scrape of her fingertips over his scalp, she took a deep breath and smiled as she nudged at his lips. ‘To us.’  
In the split second between leaning back to look into those enthralling blue eyes, she caught his blindingly bright smile and couldn’t help but answer it with another of her own.

His hand had trailed up into her hair during her ministrations, long waves now loosely wrapped around his palm. He pulled her closer and nuzzled his nose into hers.  
‘Och I like the sound of ‘us’... Mmmphh, yer all mine alright.’ He angled her head down to catch her lips with his. ‘At long last!’ Resounding deep breaths and sighs as their tongues met to duel.  
With a gasp for breath he pulled back, panting slightly as blue eyes met blue. Bright and deep, both sparkling. From silvery flecks, to turquoise flashes, swirling cobalt to rings of deep navy, there met an ocean of shades and depth of feeling swimming in watery shallows.  
Transfixed, he stroked the pad of his thumb back and forth along the ridge of her prominent high cheekbone and gazed deeper still.  
’Aye, my Sassenach. Kent I wanted ye from the first moment I saw ye. Kent I was falling for ye after that very first day. But I realised just how much I loved ye, unreservedly, once I kent what ye felt for me too… Last night, swaying with me, under the moonlight, in my arms, hand in mine, head on my chest, leg pressing between mine, having opened up yer very soul to mine.  
‘Our souls are two halves of one now. There’s no turning back lass… yer stuck wi me.’  
Lost in his gaze and still trying to absorb every part of his confession, she came briefly back to her senses as he rolled on to his back, pulling her thigh over his hip to open her to him, delighting in the pressure as hips and tongues began to dance again.

Her turn to pull back and gasp for air, a deep inhale to try to ground herself, floating as she was amongst all these feelings. Eyes snapping open, causing his to widen in alarm.  
An even deeper inhale. ‘Unghhh… is that bacon?!’  
She moved to roll off him and despite his protesting groan, found herself swiflty nestled neatly into his side, his hand running down her left arm to interlock their fingers.  
’Ugh… Do you think your mum would adopt me?!’  
‘Christ, I hope not! I’ve no interest in incest, Beauchamp!’  
‘Shame… “Claire Fraser” has a pretty nice ring to it...’ She snapped her mouth shut in horror, feeling him take a deep breath as she mentally berated herself for letting that slip aloud.  
‘Aye…’ drawn out, long and clear - rich deep tone enhanced with feeling making his rolling burr more pronounced. He shifted against her a little as he slowly stretched his neck to place a precise, slightly open-mouthed, lingering kiss over her forth digit of their still interlocked hands. Craning his neck back to look her straight in the eye, keeping their hands close. ‘…So it does’.  
No mean feat, she decided then and there that was her favourite of all his kisses so far. A promise. Reverent, purposeful, indelible.  
Unblinking, blue meets blue, again. Watery eyes and matching smiles.  
A beat. A squeeze. A snort. ’I canna believe ye said that out loud!’  
A playful thump in the ribs. ‘Nor you!’ 

A deep breath, followed by an expectant pause. ‘Let us make a vow, Sassenach….’  
‘Jesus, already?!’ Humour a default reaction in trying to quell the depths of all this emotion and honesty.  
He squeezed her hand. He knows. Has always been able to read her glass face like a book.  
‘Ahem… A vow, to always share what’s in our hearts, Claire. We’re no mind readers. Ye ken as I we can both be stubborn, fiery, quick to temper and to jest… So let’s always be honest about what we’re feeling.  
‘Okay.’ A kiss.  
‘Okay?’ Another.  
‘Okay... So tell me, what are you feeling now?’  
‘Like me heart is fit to burst!’  
‘I think mine already has!’  
‘Och and something else fit to burst too...!’  
A dirty laugh trailed into a squeal as, with raw athleticism, he had her flipped and under him, pressed deep into the feather-topped mattress with his weight, trailing a hand down her leg to bring it back up around his hip.


	2. TWO

He couldn’t tell you if there were actual fireworks or not, but he saw all the colours behind closed eyes. Couldn’t hear anything beyond his pulse roaring in his ears, ragged breath thundering through swollen lips. Could feel the goosebumps on her arms, but knew they weren’t from the gloriously balmy summer evening.  
Foreheads touching, looking through lowered lashes, ‘Shall we get out of here?’  
‘Please…’

They were interrupted by Rupert and Angus, hollering as they bundled through the chiffon drapes edging the marquee - not so stealthily rounding up the younger guests for an after party - clapping Jamie on the back, ‘It’s time! Don’t dilly man’, before they stumbled swiftly on. Dazedly tearing his eyes from her, he looked up and around, through the merry crowd of guests congregating at the main entrance of the reception tent, to see Jenny and Ian, arm in arm, making their way up the path towards the house, her white dress soon disappearing from view. Oops, he thought, they must have missed the send off.  
He caught his father’s eye where he stood with his mam tucked into his shoulder. Dark and red hair coming similarly together. To the meaningful nod towards Claire in his arms, Jamie grinned unabashedly in response as he turned, getting his bearings to point them in the direction of the narrow path up to the old mill, festoon lights just visible in the distance. 

The dark path, lined with ferns and rutted with uneven stones, offered them a sense of privacy, but neither was overly bothered to try to hide what it is between them. What was always inevitable, eventual. They’d flirted with lighting the flame a couple of times before, but mutually agreed to back off until they were ready. The stars were aligning, their time now. Their place here; had always been here. From each other’s first kiss, awkward but sweet, in the stables so many years before; to the understanding but no less heartbreaking farewell, before Paris, before Boston, on the steps of the old tower. 

The gang was all here and in great spirits - Geillis, Angus, Rupert, Willy, John, Mary, even wee Fergus scampered past, a suspicious sway to his step. Claire realised they’d all come prepared - swimwear, towels, hoodies, casual and comfy. She regarded Jamie’s dashing kilt and formal attire; her tripping along in her embellished maxi bridesmaid’s dress, slit revealing her thigh and strappy block sandals with each step. How long had they been outside the marquee, lost in each other?  
As the path forked - left to the mill, right back round to the main house - she grasped his hand tighter and pulled him to a stop. After a glance downward, a shared look, he called out to say they’d change into something more suitable then head straight back down. Unsure and unbothered if anyone heard, he slung an arm around her shoulder as they took the darker path; the buzz of insects and peals of far off laughter the soundtrack to their journey.  
Finally spilling past the kailyard, they came together again outside the back door to the main house. A passionate kiss, roaming hands, pressing hips. Until a gaggle of elder guests rounding the wall by the kitchen had them jumping apart. 

They dissolved into quiet laughter once they make it through to the bottom of the shadowy back staircase. Alone again. Making slow progress up the creaky flight of stairs, stopping every few steps to peck and stroke and grope. They meandered blindly down the hall to her guest room. Her back against the door frame, caged in his arms. He glanced down the hallway before leaning in to capture her lips again with a desperate groan.  
With a kiss under his ear, a sultry whisper drawing out one word, ‘Could we blow off drinks?’  
A steadying breath. ‘Och, ye wee hellion! Perhaps I wanted to woo ye properly, knock ye off yer feet, spoil ye like ye deserve?’  
He gave her one last devastating kiss then pushed off with a groan, hips lingering amid growing friction.  
With a stronger resolve than he knew he had, he threw a ‘Race you back downstairs!’ over his shoulder as he headed to his room at the far end of the hall.  
Finally able, she stuttered a ‘Seriously?!’ With a thump of her head against the door, she set her mind to beating him in their race.  
She kicked off her heels with a sigh, sinking aching arches into plush carpet and flexing cramped toes. She reached an arm up, wriggling and pretzeling and contorting in attempt to reach the tricky fastenings at the base of her shoulder blades.

His ensuite shower rained down, the distinct lack of steam evident enough of his not so little problem. Hearing a light but incessant knock just as he stepped in, he grabbed his towel and cautiously rewrapped himself.  
He cracked the door open to see her peering nervously each way down the hall.  
She was rendered speechless when he opened the door fully, propping a shoulder against the frame, arms crossed, biceps bulging, glistening with droplets of water, towel dangerously low on his hips. Sweeping her eyes unabashedly down and back up his body, she snapped her mouth shut.  
‘Problem?’ Eyebrow arched.  
They both start, hearing a door bang and raucous laughter spilling up the main staircase. He grasped her elbow, pulling and pivoting her into the room in an elegant manoeuvre. The door closed behind her before her mind could catch up. ‘My dress…’  
An obnoxious thumping on his door. ‘Jamie, hurry up and stop preening ye tart, there’s good whiskey won’t drink itself’. Angus’ cackle steadily quieting in retreat.  
Jamie leant his forehead down to hers, breathing her in. He’d bent his knees unconsciously, now her heels were discarded, well accustomed to their usual height difference.  
‘Your dress…?’ Fingers skim down her torso to dance distractingly over her hips.  
‘Hmmm?’  
‘You said…’  
‘Oh, I can’t get it off without help.’ A blush. ‘Honestly!’  
She pushed him back with a nudge of her pelvis, turning and making a play of walking the fingers of one arm up her back and the other down over her shoulder, both missing their target by a hair.  
‘Och, well, I think I should be able to help wi that’.  
He stepped to her, this time his front meeting her back. Pulling her long curls aside, he dropped a kiss to the nape of her neck, fingers trailing from her waist up. With the weight of him pressed along the length of her, scent invading her nostrils, he was invading and overloading her senses.  
His fingers reached the fastenings. ‘What the…?!’  
‘See, not just some ruse!’  
He cajoled her into the bathroom for better light, reaching into the stall to turn off the shower. She held on to the marble counter with whitening knuckles, unblinking eyes on him in the mirror; his intent on solving his puzzle. In joyous triumph, a boyish grin lit up his face as he managed to unfasten the tiny hooks and found the top of the hidden zipper. He slowly pulled it down to the small of her back, warm fingers slipping under the weighty embellished fabric in exploration.  
His breathing deepened; at hers hitching, his eyes snapped up to the mirror. The fingers of his other hand roved up and around to grasp under her chin, drawing her in for a deep and wanting kiss. Tongues duelling, her hand snaked up to his neck. Turning in his arms, she soon found herself perched on the edge of the sink, thigh high slit in the loosened dress enabling her to spread her legs wide enough for him to settle in between and give his roving hands access. Those long legs also gave her leverage, pulling him closer as he crowded her, consuming her. The feel of him, hard as steel, finally so close to where she wanted him, needed him. The heat of him tore through her as his mouth mauled hers, demanding, desperate.  
A returning thump on the door broke their reverie again, Angus’s trilling laugh fading down the hallway. Panting for air he dropped his forehead to her chest, dropping a kiss to to the top of each breast. He groaned, as she slipped off the counter, down his front, a chaste peck on his lips.  
‘Tick tock, chop chop! See you downstairs’. She raised an eyebrow and cast an eye downward... ‘Best be quick in that shower’. A chuckle as she squeezed his hips and impishly tore the towel from him. It took every inch of her willpower to not look down, or back, as she sauntered out his room.

An icy shower later, he couldn’t find her downstairs, and with no answer when he checked back at the door to her room again, he ran back along the path to try to catch her up.  
Rounding the final corner to the old mill, he heard her laughter over the music. Rupert, behind the makeshift bar, poured a long line of shots. The good stuff, indeed. She was leaning against Geillis’ stool, arm slung around Willy’s shoulder. Hip popped against the bar top, legs looking impossibly long in denim shorts, arse simply phenomenal. A white vest just revealed the lacy detail of her bra; blush pink silky shirt keeping her decent. He loved the oversized hotel slippers most of all. Ellen made a point of snaffling them from every hotel she went to; the guest bedroom closets always well stocked.  
He sidled up behind her, pressing a kiss to her temple, fingers lightly grazing the back of her thighs.

To great fanfare, Jenny and Ian soon reappeared, uncontainable smiles as bright as their shiny new wedding bands. Her hair unpinned and mussed, unabashed. As a champagne cork popped, everything swiftly kicked up a gear. A flurry of toasts, questionable karaoke sing-a-longs, shots, much dancing, then, an inevitable splash. Soon enough, they were all thoroughly soggy, delighting in the cool mill stream as they had as kids.

At her third yawn, he pulled himself out the stream, promising to fix her a drink. Soon distracted from espresso martini making when he saw her pull herself over the ladder out the water. Water dripping, silky lace lingerie glimmering silver under the twinkling lights, she cast an oversize towel over her shoulders. As she strut around the makeshift bar, squelching in her soggy hotel slippers, his cat-like reflexes steadied her elbow as she skidded in the pool of water that had been dripping off him where he stood, shorts and boxers riding dangerously low.  
She slid an arm around his shoulders, soon playing with the damp curls at the nape of his neck, darkened to almost mahogany. They shared the drink, neither keen for the night to end anytime soon. Nudging hips playfully, they leant against the bar, surveying their friends and family.  
They were interrupted as Ian and Jenny make to leave again, a tangle of arms, meaningful hugs and heartfelt whispers between the four of them, newlyweds and newly-somethings. Their leave heralded a mass of dripping, shivering bodies squabbling over towels.  
‘Let's get out of here.’  
‘God, yes’.


	3. ONE

She roused from her dozing with a start, neck cricked at an unnatural angle. A tinny announcement came from the cockpit that they’d be starting their descent shortly. After the lengthy delay in Boston, a turbulent transatlantic crossing, the chaos of connecting through Heathrow, then a long queue to get a seat on the next flight up to Inverness, she was exhausted. With a long drive and big day still ahead of her, she was in desperate need of forty winks. It was only a short flight, but her mind just wouldn’t seem to switch off. She was regretting that coffee at Heathrow, feeling wired and jittery, knee bouncing up and down of its own accord.  
Used to barrelling straight from shift to shift, Claire wasn’t relishing all this travel time. Evidently too much time to think. About her final exams, about Boston and her life there. About that bastard Tom and the residual humiliation she still felt; even about boring old Frank, who hadn’t crossed her mind in years. Steering her mind to happier thoughts of the faces she’d see just a few hours from now, she’d just started to doze again when another sodding announcement bounced around the cabin. ‘Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!’  
Landed, taxied, and disembarked; she’d sailed through passport control with more energy than she thought she had left, but felt it waning as the last few bags on the carousel began to tail off. ‘Shit, shit, shit’, her foot now tapping impatiently. Just as panic started setting in, her battered suitcase crept around the corner of the belt. She used the last of her energy on a little happy dance. Totally justified.  
After a quick pit-stop and another coffee, she’d sorted a hire car, fired off a few texts to allay their concerns, and was peeling out the airport car park, heading deeper into the Highlands. ‘Just drive on the left. Left, left, left’. 

As she settled into the familiar route, roads dark and clear, her thoughts began to wander again. To her destination and her hosts. Reminiscing on her blissful formative years there. On how they’d been there for her after she lost Lamb; they lost him too. How they’d understood her need for independence, to leave Edinburgh for Boston; to assert herself, prove herself. But they always welcomed her home again. God, it had been too long. The closer she got, the more desperate she felt. Excited, but inexplicably nervous. She admits to herself how lonely she’d been in Boston, how Lallybroch and the Frasers feel like home. One in particular. She thought about him most of all.

On pulling up in the early dawn light, birds trilling their chorus, she felt a sense a peace. The big door was thrown open before she could even raise a tired arm to knock, swept into a tall red-headed hug, overly tight and overly long, but just what she needed. She noticed how the familiar perfume calmed her immediately. Christ, it felt good to be back. To be home.  
Claire was babbling apologies for being so late, for arriving at such an early hour, for missing the rehearsal dinner. Apologised again for coming alone after all, for disrupting the seating plan…  
Ellen cut her off. ‘Hush, mo chridhe. Let me look at ye. Och, it’s good to have ye home…’ She pulls her into another bone-crushing hug, releasing her with a kiss to the forehead. ’I was up early, too excited! There’s plenty of last minute things to see to, but in truth I was just enjoying the peace before Jenny comes down and starts issuing orders! Let me sort ye a quick bite to eat and cup of tea… Then off to bed with ye, it’ll be a long day and ye look done in, lass… Och, but do me a quick favour and take those over to the croft opposite the Tower, would ye? They’re for Ian and the boys. They’ll surely all be passed out, snoring and farting, but the door’ll be open. Just leave them on top of the hearth and hurry back to me.’  
Claire dutifully turned from whirlwind-Ellen, balancing the pile of bacon-filled bannocks, the oozing ketchup and brown sauce making her mouth water, as she made her way back across the gravel. She juggled the warm plate to reach for the door handle, creeping in quiet as a mouse, only to fumble and almost drop it as she rounded the corner into the kitchen with a start, surprised to find anyone awake. 

There he was. Downing a glass of water at the sink. Boxers and loose plaid pyjama bottoms low on his hips. The defined muscles of his back tensing as he twisted around to her. Eyes widening, eyebrows climbing. He looked tired, shadows under his eyes, skin a little grey, evidently hungover. But still undeniably beautiful. There was an audible gulp, the water already long gone. She broke eye contact momentarily, just to deliver the plate safely to the tabletop, hearing his groan of appreciation at the smell of bacon now permeating the kitchen.  
But then there he was, a flash of red and flexing muscle and whiskey fumes, and him. Engulfing her in a bear hug somehow even fiercer than his mother’s. He sighed as she sank into him, fingers flexing into the cut of his obliques as they wrap around his waist. Neither could tell you how long they stood there, locked together. ‘God, Sassenach, it’s so good to have ye home’.  
An unintelligible mumble from the other room was quickly followed by ‘Och, God, Bacon?! Best best man, ever, mo brathair’ as Ian stumbled into the kitchen.  
They loosened their hold, shared a long look. He tucked a lock behind her ear as she startled, clamping her eyes shut as Rupert staggered into the room, butt naked. He didn’t bat an eyelid when he realised she was there, just slurred ‘Claire, ye made it!’  
She barked a laugh, already turning to leave, squeezing Jamie’s hand in farewell. ‘Wild horses couldn’t keep me away, Rupert. But for now I desperately need to grab a couple of hours sleep. After a shower and some clothes’ pointedly, ‘I can’t wait to catch up with you all properly.’  
Jamie winced and shook his head at Rupert’s antics, squeezing her hand back before letting her go. ‘Sleep well, mo nighean donn’.  
Claire took a deep steadying breath on the step when she made it back outside, before crunching across the gravel back to the main house.  
She opened the door to see Brian dropping a tender kiss to Ellen’s forehead, hands squeezing her shoulders. ‘Claire!’ In delight, another crushing Fraser embrace. He soon guided her to a seat at the long table, fresh bannock and steaming mug of passionflower tea awaiting her. 

She awoke later to the feel of something tugging her hair. Cracked an eyelid to find Jenny, playing with her curls, expressive eyes delighting as they recoiled back. Noticing her awake, Jenny squealed and dove on top of her, smaller frame smothering her in a hug. That’ll be four.  
As she pulled herself up and leant against the headboard, Jenny was back to business. ’Glad ye finally showed up! Now ye ken I told ye to book that earlier flight, so I won’t remind ye… Anyway, it’s almost 9am, so that gives me ten precious minutes with ye before we need to crack on.’  
Claire just grinned in response at her best friend, ‘Happy wedding day, Jenny!’ She leant up to smack a sloppy kiss on her cheek, ‘I’m so sorry I had to cut it so close. Worst journey ever.’  
True to form, whirlwind-Jenny covered an impressive amount in their short time together. Asked after her exams, ran through the morning’s schedule, updated her on the latest gossip on the other bridesmaids, re-enacted Annalise’s surly reaction to being uninvited.  
Jenny had just broached the subject of Tom when Ellen poked her head in the door, bottle of Champagne in hand to chase them up. Hearing Claire’s explanation she came to perch on the end of the bed, laying a reassuring hand on her ankle. ‘It doesn’t make it hurt any less, lass, but these things happen for a reason… Lessons to be learned’.  
Claire wasn’t convinced, but managed to keep her reaction in check when Jenny revealed Tom’s parents would be there, but seated well across the marquee from her. ‘Please, don’t worry about me today, it’s your day. But, if you don’t want me ruining your photos, we better start tackling these bags under my eyes!’ 

After a frantic morning prepping and assisting with last minute requests, soon enough, it was time. She’d barely had pause to consider her disappointment at not seeing Jamie all morning, eager to spend time with him. The music piped in and she followed the other bridesmaids in slow procession, finally laying eyes on him, resplendent in his wedding finery. Dappled sunlight catching in his hair as it tousled in the gentle breeze. ‘He really is impossibly handsome’, she sighed to herself.  
She couldn’t help but smile as she caught Ian surreptitiously handing his flask back, both imbibing in either hair of the dog or liquid courage. Their eyes locked as she entered the top of the aisle. She wished she could read his face better; dreads to think what he sees plastered all over hers. God, she could do with a stiff drink herself.

‘Christ, when did she get even more beautiful?’ Jamie thought to himself. Irresistible curves hugged by the cut of the embellished dress, thigh high slit revealing a tantalisingly creamy flash of leg. Tumbling waves, luscious lips, elegant cheekbones, molten eyes; he couldn’t look away, dared not even blink. Seeing her gliding down the aisle towards him, he allowed himself moment. A premonition, of sorts - a crystal clear vision, that one day she’d head down another aisle towards him once again. Too quickly, she made it to him and they shared a flustered smile. Taking her place across the aisle from him, both sneaked surreptitious glances, but were soon enthralled in the ceremony and the magical union of their sister, their brother. Bonds deeper than blood. 

Soon enough, they’d sung and prayed and witnessed and cheered. Mr and Mrs Murray. Finally! In the crowded marquee, she caught up with dear and familiar faces in a whirlwind of hugs and kisses and chatter. Soon enough, Ian and Jenny had reappeared and they all sat down to feast. Their prime spot right in front of the long top table, raucous with Rupert, Angus, Willy, Rabbie, wee Fergus, Murtagh, Geillis too. Jamie to Claire’s right. Despite that, she clocked they had two less place settings than the other tables. That’d be Tom and Annalise, she thought bitterly, taking a gulp of wine as soon as a waiter filled her glass. Glancing around the room, she clocked a table of MacKenzies in one corner, Dougal and Collum and Leticia, with Lord Lovat in the opposite corner. Glad of the distance on both counts, she tuned into Rupert and Angus’ sordid storytelling.  
As if Jamie’s best man’s speech hadn’t had her weeping tears of both laughter and emotion, she was unspeakably touched when Brian included her Uncle Lamb in his toast for those that couldn’t be with them. She struggled to swallow past the lump in her throat as Jamie squeezed her hand under the table. 

The tables were soon pushed to the side to make room for the dance floor. Claire continued her mingling, catching Jamie’s eye on occasion as he too played his part: diligent best man, brother, son, future Laird. Schmoozing like a pro.  
His brow furrowed as he caught a fleeting look of panic cross her face as she turned to face the Christies. He tried to intercept, but was blocked by Ian clapping a hand on his shoulder to pull him into a mini school reunion huddled nearby. For once uninterested in reminiscing, he cast an eye about to try to find her again, but he’d lost her in the crowd.

Some time later, they finally bumped into each other again near the bar at the far end of the marquee. He’d just escaped a tipsy and handsy Grannie McNabb. She’d managed to shirk Geillis’ much older boyfriend and his inappropriate attempts to have her diagnose his gout.  
They shared a bit of a moment, shoulder to shoulder, watching Ian and Jenny’s first dance. Ellen and Brian soon joining the newlyweds on the dance floor. Finding it all a bit much; Claire excused herself and quickly ducked outside for some air. 

He paused at the billowing chiffon drapes, just to watch her. She was looking across the meadow, swaying gently to the melody of Alone by Jessie Ware under the glowing festoon lights strung up in the trees above them. With a tumbler of whiskey in each hand, amber in the soft twilight, he stepped alongside her and waggled one playfully by her hand.  
‘Mind reader’ she crooned as he loosened his tie and opened a few buttons, draping his jacket over the fence. She turned to face him and popped a hip against it as she took a sip. ‘Ooh the good stuff, thank you.’  
‘Ye looked deep in thought… do ye mind the company?’, he checked.  
‘You? Never’, she sighed.  
’So what’s going through that curly wig of yers, mo nighean donn?’, twirling a finger through a sleekened wave.  
She looked into his deep blue eyes, and it all came tumbling out. That she’s so glad to be here, to feel like she’s home. That she’s been in Boston almost five years now, but being here with all of them makes her realise how lonely she’s actually been. Besides Joe and Gail, of course. Despite, rolling her eyes, boring Frank, and sodding Christie, on whom she’d just wasted a year waiting on whilst he played her, made a fool of her.  
He took it all in, struck with a deep sense of kinship.  
He opened up himself. Kens her meaning. That Paris isn’t so far and he’d not been there as long, but he’s glad his MBA is almost done. It’s been tough, not least with how everything had blown up with Annalise a few months before. That he’s already wrapping things up with Jared, keen to get back. To his people, his home, his heart. ‘It’s always been yer home too, Claire. And we’ll be ready for ye, keeping a place warm for whenever yer ready’.  
After a beat, she ventured, ‘I think I’m ready now. I’m almost fully qualified. It would be a good time for a clean break and a fresh start, back home, here in Scotland’.  
His heart soared, but she’s still quiet, contemplative. Nudging a hip to hers, ‘Is that all?’  
She huffed out a laugh, he’s always been able to read her like a book. With a deep sigh, she admits she was relieved to realise she felt nothing seeing Tom’s parents. Thinks she’s finally off that emotional rollercoaster of anger and humiliation and regret. Feels she can start to trust her gut instincts again. A pregnant pause, a long look.  
As the opening bars of River by Leon Bridges reached them, feeling brave, she whispered ‘Dance with me?’

They twinned together, hand in hand, eyes locked, moving closer.  
She reassured him, ‘But this, us, has nothing to do with any of that, Jamie’.  
He dipped her playfully in response, and when she straightened back up and in, she stepped a leg either side of his muscular thigh. Closer still.  
‘So what’s yer gut telling ye now?’ he asked, fairly sure of the answer.  
She leant closer in response, reaching upwards. As he bent down their lips finally met, quick to reacquaint themselves and remember their own dance from so many years before.

He couldn’t tell you if there were actual fireworks or not, but he saw all the colours behind his closed eyes. Couldn’t hear anything beyond his pulse roaring in his ears, ragged breath thundering through swollen lips. Could feel the goosebumps on her arms, but knew they weren’t from the gloriously balmy summer evening.  
Foreheads touching, looking through lowered lashes, ‘Shall we get out of here?’  
‘Please…’


	4. EPILOGUE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An epilogue of sorts. But technically back to present time. So chronologically, confusingly, this effectively comes at the end of chapter one (“Three”).

Wrapped up in each other, shielded by the curtain of her hair, they misjudged the edge of the bed. As her left knee started sliding off, she yelped, inadvertently clenching around him even tighter. That left him entirely distracted, too late to help anchor them, to pull her back.  
Her momentum carried them, and inevitably they rolled off the edge of the bed, a tangle of limbs and winded gasps.

Landing with a thump, his forearm took the impact, braced under her shoulder. Her left hip was not so lucky. Their shock soon dissipated, dissolving into peals of laughter. The weight of him smothering her.  
‘Oof, Jamie... Jamie, I can’t breathe’ she panted, fingers urgently tapping at his shaking ribs. Coming to his senses, he shifted his hands to take more of his weight, but still crowded her, shaking with mirth as he giggled into her long neck. His hips, heavy against hers, were less gentlemanly. It wasn’t until he went to push himself up that she realised he was, miraculously, still buried deep.  
‘Ah, don’t you dare!’, wincing in discomfort as she clamped around him, anchoring her legs around his hips to keep him just where she needed. He almost fell against her again in surprise.  
‘I’m not going anywhere, Sorcha, just don’t want that glorious arse black and blue or covered in splinters!’, a playful grope for good measure.

In a swift move he kissed her filthily to distract her, swallowing her desperate moan as he slid out, then pushed back on his haunches and up to sit on the edge of the bed, lifting her with him.  
Dazed from that kiss, she struggled to process their sudden re-orientation, ‘Wait, wha...?’.  
With her legs straddling his hips again, she came to her senses as she caught sight of him, hard and thick and long, up against his navel, bobbing with want, glistening with her. God, he was huge all over. She felt an involuntary pang, of pleasure and pain, aching but oh so desperate for more.  
Jamie was as distractedly transfixed with the sight of her in his lap. Open and slick and wanting. And his. Christ, they’d had an incredible twenty four hours. 

She snapped him from his thoughts and silent prayer of thanks, digging her hands into the meat of his shoulders for leverage. Bringing her forehead to his as she slid forwards in his lap, his hands reverently came around her hips, grabbing two handfuls of that magnificent arse, guiding her to him. They jointly lifted her hips to align before pushing and pulling to sink down. Home.  
Heads together, panting breaths mingling, gazes both hooded and cast downward, unblinking in awe at the erotic slow slide of their joining. Eyes snapping to each others at the indescribable feel as she took him to the hilt. In a moment of reverence they were both stock still.  
He broke first, a sob at the first infinitesimal clench as she made me to move her hips. With a gasp, she slid her hand from his shoulder up his neck and into his hair, angling his mouth closer to hers. ‘Shh or they’ll hear from downstairs.’

Soon they relaxed into the push and pull, finding their rhythm. Each thrust, delicious slide, twist. Again. And again. Sighs lengthening, heat building, bodies glistening. She started losing control, the delicious pressure on her clit as their hips ground together each time he bottomed out, tip against her cervix. It was almost too much. Overly stimulated, overly sensitive. It pushed her suddenly over the edge. Her edge, not the bed again. White light and wave after tremoring wave pulsed through her.  
In response, he swelled impossibly bigger, nearing completion. Tightening his arms around her, he scooted closer to the edge of the bed, leg muscles dancing as he pistoned his hips into her, chasing release; finding her mouth again to swallow his desperate grunts and groans.  
Then quiet and still, save for the heaving of his chest, sucking in air as he came back down to earth. Her, languid and sprawled against him, dazed as the last of her aftershocks abated. 

Untangling themselves, he threw his weight backward down on to the bed; she trailed a leg over his hip and pivoted to land herself neatly down alongside him. Bodies jostling into each other as the mattress bounced with their movement, they looked to each other with goofy, playful grins etched on their flushed faces. His left arm cushioning her, she nestled into him, fingers toying with his in slow strokes.  
‘As if we’ve been missing out on that this whole time?!’  
‘Aye, mo ghaol, well now we know. And we have all the time in the world to make amends’.  
She bent his hand to her lips and placed a meaningful kiss on that fourth finger. A promise. Their future.

A peal of laughter from downstairs burst the bubble. Their eyes snapped to each other, eyebrows raised, mouths pulled in silly grimaces.  
‘Och, ken I want to,’ nudging his hip to hers, ‘but we canna stay in bed all day, mo chridhe.’  
She rolled to place a chaste peck to his lips. ‘Plenty of time for that later, mister. I’ll have you know, you’re not the only Fraser I missed!’ Flushing, she nuzzled her face into his neck, and muffled out ‘But how I’m supposed to look them in the eye now, I don’t know.’  
‘Dinna fash, Sassenach,’ he ran a hand soothingly up and down her back. ‘Ye ken they love ye more than they do me. They’ll be happy for us... Merciless and teasing, for sure, but happy.’  
More laughter filtered through from downstairs. ‘Hmm, wonder if that’s at our expense? Come on then, time to face the music... it’ll be worth it for that bacon alone.’ Her stomach gurgled, on cue.  
With a snort and a smack to her bum, ‘But first a shower, Sorcha, we stink of sex and whiskey and the millstream.’ 

He moved to get up and pulled her with him towards the ensuite. She stumbled after him, hand in his. ‘Fair enough, but no funny business, Fraser. You’ve broken me, you brute!’ Walking gingerly, perving over the taut muscles of his back and bum as she did.  
As he leant into the shower stall she caught sight of her reflection. Swollen lips, a faint hickey at the corner of her collarbone, rash from his stubble dotting the top of her chest. Muscles aching between her thighs.  
‘You loved it,’ he whispered in her ear as he stood behind her, intense eyes locked on her reflection, hand dancing around her hip and up towards a nipple.  
Christ, their hair! Matching curls in total disarray, testament to their rounds between the sheets. On the floor, above the sheets. Inevitably, in the shower.

Some time later, they made it to the bottom of the back staircase. Flushed and nervously giggling, hands clasped tightly together. A final peck on the lips, a squeeze of her fingers, ‘Come, Sassenach.’  
Claire took a split second to pause at the doorway and take note of the blissful family scene. Her family. Brian at the head of the table, Ellen leaning over him to top up his coffee; Murtagh, Rabbie, Rupert, Angus and Fergus all sitting back with eyes glistening, broad smiles; Jenny, leaning against Ian at the hearth, both blushing.  
As Jamie tugged her into the kitchen, Ian barked out, ‘Och, thank God, there ye are! Quick, come and take the focus off of me and Mrs Murray here.’  
At that, Claire buried her head into Jamie’s back with a groan, as seven other faces whipped up and around to land on them. Soon whooping and hollering and cat calling in delight.  
‘Alright, alright, shut yer gobs!’ As Jamie pulled her from behind him, she clocked his red cheeks and beaming smile matched hers perfectly.

‘Whischt, ye gommerals.’ Ellen rounded the long table and took Claire’s hand with a squeeze, pulling her to an empty chair. ‘Dinna fash, lass, there’s bacon and coffee left. Eat up now, you’ll have both worked up quite the appetite, I’m sure!’ With a squeeze to Claire’s shoulders and sly look at her son, Ellen’s quick bark of laughter set off the others once again.  
Claire choked in shock, clocked Jamie’s shoulders jigging up and down as he slid into the chair beside her. ‘Traitor!’ she hissed with a smile. In response, he reached up to grasp her chin and planted a noisy smacking kiss to her lips. Eyes twinkling in delight. Shameless.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> I'll be extending this to a few chapters, rewinding further backwards each time to reveal how they came to be together.
> 
> I was actually torn as to whether to write this as Jamie/Claire or Sam/OFC. If anyone's keen, you might just convince me to take a stab at the latter too!


End file.
